


Uptown Funk

by StilesBastille24



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Parkour, Photography, Running, kiwis - the New Zealand kind, the boys have secrets, the gang wants to know all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 11:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11206818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: Bucky starts running. He slips on his sneakers when the mornings are grey and verging on rain. Pushing up the window, he jogs down the fire escape and jumps the last ten feet to the ground. And then he runs.Steve starts taking photos. Sam buys him a Nikon with a ridiculous amount of ways to capture a picture. Steve learns all of them. When the morning is soft and the sunshine butter yellow, he opens the door to his apartment and walks the ten floors down to the ground floor. And then he focuses his lens.





	Uptown Funk

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing about Bucky and Steve. This is what came out. I don't know why Tahi the kiwi got involved, except it really is a great book and Tahi really is awesome with the amazingly created prosthetic. Also kiwis are wonderful and deserve to be protected. 
> 
> The title is from the Bruno Mars song because it fit with this story being light hearted.

Bucky starts running. He slips on his sneakers when the mornings are grey and verging on rain. Pushing up the window, he jogs down the fire escape and jumps the last ten feet to the ground. And then he runs. 

Steve starts taking photos. Sam buys him a Nikon with a ridiculous amount of ways to capture a picture. Steve learns all of them. When the morning is soft and the sunshine butter yellow, he opens the door to his apartment and walks the ten floors down to the ground floor. And then he focuses his lens.

~~~~~~~~

“But where do you run?” Natasha asks. She pops a grape in her mouth, clutching the container of grapes to her chest so Bucky doesn’t get the incorrect impression that she’s willing to share them.

“Where ever,” Bucky elaborates with a shrug. He stares pointedly at the grapes. Natasha curls her upper body over the Tupperware. 

The black countertop matches perfectly with her leggings. She would look utterly at home, crosslegged on Bucky’s kitchen counter if it wasn’t for the predatory way she’s protecting the grapes. Grapes that came out of Bucky’s fridge. 

“You run in the rain, Barnes. That’s weird. Has no one ever told you that’s weird?” She holds a grape out towards him.

Bucky knows this is a deception. He’s half tempted to knock the secured grape container to the floor. But those are his fucking grapes and he’s not willing to sacrifice them just to show Natasha she’s annoying him. 

Natasha wiggles the grape at him, held between two perfectly manicured nails. 

“I like running in the rain. I’m closing in on a century. I’m allowed to be weird.” Bucky feigns a reach toward the grape. 

Natasha flicks it upwards. She captures it expertly in her mouth. “You’ll catch the flu,” she reasons, grinning smugly at him. 

“I’m a super solider,” Bucky counters. Then he kicks his foot into the container; it tumbles upward; Bucky snatches it from midair with his metal arm. 

The grapes taste like victory.

~~~~~~~~

“What’s the point of taking pictures if you don’t ever share them with anybody?” Sam asks as he and Steve observe the city below. They are perched on the Steve’s apartment building roof.

“It’s not about there being a point,” Steve says. He knows he’s being vague but he’s uncertain how to clarify. 

Sam slants him a sideways look. “Do you even get them developed, man? Or are you hording like a closet full of film?”

Steve laughs brightly, cocking look at his friend. “We turned the spare room into a dark room, asshole.”

Sam’s sniff is indigent. “Hey, I’m not the one making secret stalker wall collages.”

Laughing harder, Steve kicks at Sam’s leg where it hangs over the ledge of the roof. “I put the pictures in albums, for your information. Perfectly normal.”

“Except not, because you are keeping them secretly locked up. You know, I’ve never even seen you with a camera? When the hell are you taking these albums worth of pictures?” 

Steve leans back on his hands, shrugging up at the mid-afternoon sky. “When there’s something I want to remember.”

~~~~~~~~

“If you track mud in my house,” Maria Hill warns, “you’ll be cleaning it off with a toothbrush.”

Bucky obligingly kicks off his mud caked sneakers outside the door. But he slings his dripping wet hoodie on the coat stand. He’s just that petty. 

“Fruit salad or vegetable?” Maria asks, casting a disapproving look at Bucky’s hoodie but leading the way toward her couch and coffee table. She nudges both salad options in his direction. Maria is a much better friend when it comes to sharing food than Natasha and Bucky almost feels bad about his coat dripping a puddle on her carpet. Almost. 

“Fruit.” Bucky takes the proffered bowl and follows Maria out onto the balcony. She has a great view over Central Park, all tree tops and street lights. 

Maria stirs balsamic vinegar into her salad. “Why don’t you sign up for a marathon?” She sets the bottle of salad dressing down at her feet. “You’re basically in training for one anyway.”

Bucky makes a face of disgust and it isn’t just because of the kiwis in his salad. Fuck the kiwis. Except for the bird kind. 

Bucky’s got a whole ‘save the kiwis’ foundation set up. It’s actually doing quite well. Mostly because the poster of him looking all moody and holding a kiwi is making a killing in donation sales. Bucky casts a dark glance through the glass doors. Maria has the poster hung up on her fridge. 

“I don’t want to run with other people,” Bucky says resentfully, nudging Maria’s salad dressing with the tip of his socked foot. It tips over, but unlike Bucky’s hoodie, it doesn’t drip. 

“I thought,” Maria looks over at Bucky, confused, and not because of the dressing, “I thought you run with –“

Bucky shoves a kiwi into his mouth resentfully and Maria cuts off with a suspiciously raised eyebrow. “Don’t give Natasha any grapes when she comes over,” Bucky says, a lame offer to restart conversation. 

“No grapes,” Maria repeats without question.

~~~~~~~~

“I’ve modeled professionally,” Natasha says, sitting back as Steve gets measured for a tux.

Tony’s throwing some type of gala affair for Bucky’s save the kiwis foundation. Tony plans on selling the Bucky and kiwi poster as part of the admission ticket. In fact, Tony’s got about twenty of those posters plastered to the walls of his workshop. Steve’s a little worried about the whole poster obsession Tony’s got going, but Pepper has assured him it’s just a phase. 

“I thought it was ‘bye bye bikini season,’” Steve murmurs, holding his arms out for the gentleman with the measuring tape. 

Natasha flicks a pen at Steve with wicked accuracy. It bounces off his forehead and scares the hell out of the guy measuring him. “I look perfect in everything,” Natasha states.

Steve cants an eyebrow at her to convey that was precisely his point. She smiles innocently. “Are you saying you’ve decided to trade in the spy life for the model life?” he asks. 

“World famous photographers have sought to capture me on film,” she continues as if Steve hasn’t spoken. “But my own dearest friend hasn’t even attempted to take a candid of me.”

Steve turns around abruptly, startling the already frazzled attendant. “Hey –“ Steve starts to protest but Natasha is having none of it.

“Am I not worthy of your camera, Steve? Is that it?” 

“I haven’t taken anyone’s photo,” Steve explains hastily, bending to help Ted, the attendant to his feet.

Natasha’s expression of heart break drops away instantly. “Oh. Well, that’s weird.”

Steve sighs in exasperation.

Ted lifts his measuring tape hesitantly, darting looks in Natasha’s direction. “I – I would be honored to take your picture,” he tells her earnestly. 

Natasha glares pointedly at Steve. “New. Dearest. Friend.”

~~~~~~~~

“But, like, why run?” Clint asks. He shoves a handful of curly fries into his mouth, not bothering to close his mouth again as he chews. “You have mad parkour skills. We could be parkouring the shit out of this city. Two bros broing out!”

Bucky drops his incredulous stare to Clint’s t-shirt. Printed across the front of the purple material is the stupid poster image of Bucky and the kiwi. “How?” Bucky demands.

“Huh?” A fry falls out of Clint’s mouth. He twists his head to look down at his shirt. “Oh, yeah! Tony made ‘em. Aren’t they rad? They’re selling like hot cakes on your site. Long live the kiwis!” Clint shouts across the casual din of the diner. 

No one bats an eye. Bucky and Clint are regulars at Carla’s Diner. Clint’s antics aren’t anything new here. Nor is the improbable amount of curly fries he ordered.

Bucky glares at the t-shirt with new found vigor. Yes, Tony’s donations to the save the kiwis foundation are immense. However, he is a complete pain in the ass. 

“But seriously, B-Bro, you, me, and parkour?” Clint blinks alluringly at Bucky.

Bucky’s congealing chocolate milkshake is more appealing than Clint’s look of seduction. “You broke your thumb last time. Natasha told me.”

“Whatever,” Clint says, stabbing a curly fry in Bucky’s direction. “I’ll have you there to catch me when I fall.” He grins. There are fry bits caught between his teeth. Bucky’s milkshake is a half melted mess of lumpy brown. Clint dips his sagging curly fry into it with relish. 

“I can’t parkour with someone whose eating habits are this disgusting. I grew up in the Depression. We were practically eating shoelaces. But, Jesus.” Bucky watches in mute horror as Clint slurps the milkshake residue off the curly fry before going for a double dip. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on, B-Bro. I am all man and a badass at parkour. We could have had it allllll,” Clint sings dramatically. 

Bucky’s metal arm spasms and most unfortunately knocks the chocolate milkshake off the table. He leaves the waitress a twenty dollar tip.

~~~~~~~~

“We need a gallery for the gala,” Tony decrees, catching Steve off guard in the Avenger’s building gym.

“What?” Steve asks blankly. He grabs hold of his punching bag, halting its sway. 

“Barnes. The kiwis. My gala. Work with me here, Red-White-and-Blue.” Tony speaks rapid fire, snapping his fingers with each item on his list. 

Steve nods along benignly. He plucks at his t-shirt, casting a glance down at it. Bucky is glaring while cuddling an adorable kiwi. “I know about Bucky, the kiwis, and the gala.”

“Yeah, so now it’s your turn to contribute.” Tony walks around the punching bag. He motions with his hands, zooming them in like a lens. “Steve Rogers’s first ever gallery. Art! Photography! Come one, come all, and donate to the goddamn kiwis!”

Steve blinks slowly. “Tony, no.”

“Tony, yes!” Tony cries.

Steve drags a hand down his face, taking the time to come up with an alternate idea to feed to Tony. Then he catches sight of his t-shirt again. “I’ll pose for a kiwi poster.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, then stops, jaw hanging lose of a minute. He shuts it with a snap. “I’ll take your poster and raise you a calendar. Alternating months with different Avengers holding kiwis.” He nods briskly to himself. “I’m thinking me, shirtless, in a rainstorm, with a buff kiwi under my arm.” 

“I don’t think ‘buff’ is a thing kiwis do,” Steve comments, relieved to have dodged the gallery bullet but dreading having to explain the kiwi calendar to the other Avengers. 

“No! Better. Me in a Jacuzzi, full Iron Man ensemble, a relaxing kiwi floats besides me!” 

“Can kiwis swim?” Steve muses.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky slips on his sneakers. He pushes up his bedroom window. Down nine floors on the fire escape, jump the last floor. He lands solidly on the pavement below. Bucky jogs idly to the mouth of the alley behind the apartment complex.

A steady beat of footfalls rounds the corner. Steve tips his head back to look at the sky. “You win today. Clouds and a chance of rain.”

Bucky smirks. “Best kind of day.”

“You got a new trail mapped out?” Steve follows Bucky’s lead down the alley. 

“Of course, Stevie. You think I’d let you down? You wanted a Weeping Willow. Well, I looked up the oldest one in the city. One hundred and two, Steve! Can you believe that?” Bucky’s dark hair sways in his face as they work up to their running pace, legs moving in tandem. 

“Is it looking as good as we do in our old age?” Steve grins at Bucky’s profile. 

“Nobody looks this fine at a hundred. We’re diamonds, Steve.” Bucky catches Steve around the side and reels him in, forcing Steve off kilter. 

Steve shoves Bucky off laughing. “You gonna pose in front of the willow for the kiwi calendar?

Bucky glares at Steve. “The fucking kiwis don’t want a calendar. They want a ban on traps that can rip through their leg and leave them to bleed to death. Tahi did not survive that for a fucking kiwi calendar!”

Bucky’s very sensitive about Tahi, the kiwi. Steve figures they’re lucky the rest of their friends haven’t found out the reason for Bucky’s sudden kiwi affinity. 

It started with a book in the public library. Tahi - One Lucky Kiwi. The New Zealand kiwi had gotten caught in a trap and had been rescued. The leg that had been caught had to be amputated. The book was filled with great information about kiwis and their place on the endangered species list. 

But the real reason, Steve thinks, that Bucky is working to save the kiwis is what came after Tahi’s leg was amputated. People came together to craft a prosthetic leg for Tahi. One he is able to wear and use to walk. There’s a connection, Steve knows, that has helped Bucky ground himself in his life after Hydra. 

“I said I was sorry about the calendar,” Steve whines. Bucky’s glare does not relent. “Bucky, come on. He wanted me to do a gallery with my photographs.”

Bucky’s not entirely sure why Steve wants his photographs to stay so secret. Hell, Bucky’s been there for every one he’s ever taken. He even helps Steve develop them in the dark room of their apartment. For fuck's sake, they pour over the photo albums together weekly. 

But Bucky figures maybe that’s the point. It’s their secret. A thing shared between them that nobody else gets a piece of. Like Bucky’s runs with Steve. Like Tahi. 

Steve will choose something he wants to capture, like today’s willow tree. Then Bucky researches the oldest one he can find and maps out a route there. If it’s sunny, they take Steve’s bike and it’s a photograph day. If it’s cloudy, they run and it’s a hang out by this thing Steve likes day. 

All the things Steve likes are old. All pushing up on the hundred year mark. Bucky knows Steve is looking for permanence. Something that will resonate with him that history isn’t always left behind, that sometimes history even grows and flourishes into something new again. 

“Pothole,” Steve advises.

Bucky sidesteps it. He turns around and runs backwards so he can watch Steve running. “Hey doofus,” Bucky says, smiling.

“What, B-Bro?” Steve asks, waggling his eyebrows preposterously. 

Bucky cracks up. He reaches out, thumping Steve’s forehead with his palm. “You’re pretty okay, you know that?” he says when he’s stopped laughing. 

Steve’s smile is beautiful. “You’re pretty okay yourself, Buck.”

“You wanna be my date to the kiwi gala?”

Steve’s blue eyes light up. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” Bucky says. His run has slowed down from a jog to a standstill.

Steve stops just shy of him, his warm hands settling readily on Bucky’s waist. Bucky reaches up, messing with Steve’s hair until it is sticking up in fluffy spikes. “Gee thanks,” Steve grouses, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. 

Bucky leans in grinning. “No problem, pal.” He kisses Steve soft and sweet. A warm pressure that is sure and true. 

When he pulls back, Steve moves his hands up to cup Bucky’s stubble covered jaw. He draws Bucky back for another kiss before his lips travel up to Bucky’s right ear. “Nice shirt,” he whispers. 

Bucky groans painfully, burying his face against Steve’s solid shoulder. A smaller version of Bucky and an adorable kiwi glower out of the black fabric of Bucky’s shirt. Lined up as they are, chest to chest, Steve’s own miniature Bucky is glowering right back, kiwi held safely against his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://blueeyeschina.tumblr.com)


End file.
